


Wild, Wild Horses

by yarroway



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Alternate Universe - Afterlife, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 19:20:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2162124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yarroway/pseuds/yarroway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Asklepios, the God of Medicine, visits with House and Wilson in the afterlife.   This fic takes an irreverant approach to religion which some readers may find distressing. Also, this is an afterlife fic so the characters are dead but not in any way that matters.</p><p>This is a sequel to a story by Damigella_314's One Last Choice, and was originally posted on LJ with her kind permission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wild, Wild Horses

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [One Last Choice](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/68421) by Damigella_314. 



> Disclaimer: House, M.D. belongs to David Shore, Universal Television, Heel and Toe Productions, and a lot of other people who are not me. I'm not making any money from this.
> 
> Thanks: to srsly_yes for her sharp-eyed beta. All mistakes and any offense are my fault and mine alone.

The nicest thing about being a God, Asklepios thought, was that he could be in many places at once. So as he was tending to his snakes, playing a game with Panacea, and influencing the dreams of a medical researcher in Italy, he was also aware of the exact moment Wilson died.

Wilson might not know it, but he’d served Asklepios most of his life. The God of Medicine was therefore more than a little miffed when his very own servant went to Yahweh’s corner of the afterlife.

Asklepios created a picture window to look in on his lost soul and there he was, chatting up his family. It was Wilson’s right by blood to join them, but Wilson had never followed the religion of his birth. Asklepios had always thought Wilson’s soul would come to him. He was bitterly disappointed that someone who’d served him so faithfully in his mortal life wouldn’t come to him afterwards, but that was that.

Or would have been, on any other day.

Then House died, mere minutes after Wilson. Suicide. Very sad.

Hermes, who House followed as much as he did Asklepios, popped in. House’s spirit stood beside him, looking vaguely shell-shocked.

“That was fast,” Asklepios said. He wished he could transport spirits like that, but it was out of his purview.

“That’s what the winged sandals are for,” Hermes said, preening at the compliment. He picked up his feet to show them off. The little golden wings beat impressively. Hermes hooked his arm through House’s and leaned in flirtatiously. “Want me to show you around?”

House shook his head. “I’m hallucinating,” he said. “My brain is shutting down, and my subconscious is…”

“Is what?” Asklepios asked. He had no patience for illogic and self-deception. “You think you keep us in your subconscious? You should know yourself better than that. A few myths you read as a kid don’t build an afterlife.”

House shook his head again. "This can't be real, therefore it isn't real."

He was giving Asklepios a headache. “You’ve always been stubborn, but this is just silly. If you were hallucinating as your brain failed, you would have seen a white tunnel with your grandmother on the other side. That’s what you kids are programmed to see these days.”

“Rationally, this can’t exist.”

“No,” Hermes corrected, eschewing his love of flirtation for his love of rhetoric and persuasion. “Rationally, to the best of your knowledge and understanding, this can’t exist. Yet here you are. You have to adjust your beliefs to fit the facts, not the other way around."

House peered past both of them. “Is that Wilson?”

“Yes. Oh, look at that,” Asklepios said, seeing the air around Wilson turn a drab, dull grey. “He doesn’t want to stay. I wonder what…” Asklepios trailed off and watched in sickened horror as Wilson made the choice to end his existence.

No, Asklepios couldn’t let this happen. House and Wilson had devoted much of their lives to medicine—to him, and he had a responsibility to them now. “Quick! Hermes! He’s one of mine!”

Hermes frowned prettily (being a God means you can do anything prettily that you want to, and that was another best thing about being one, if you asked Asklepios), “I’m not supposed to. You know that. Once a soul arrives at its final destination I’m not allowed to interfere."

“Since when do you care about rules, you old cattle thief? Please. _Please_ , I’m begging you.” Asklepios tried to think of a suitable bribe. “I have some of the Golden Fleece. I’ll use it to line those sandals for you so they won’t give you blisters anymore if you grab him before he dissolves. I’m sure House would be grateful too.”

Hermes glanced at House.

“None of this is real,” House said again. Asklepios hoped he wasn't always this boring.

Hermes rolled his eyes. "So you want to let Wilson fade into nothingness? Is that it?"

"Of course I don't," House snapped. "But he's gone. It doesn't matter what I want."

"If this is all a hallucination, then there's no reason not to be honest with yourself. Do you want him here, and what's it worth to you?"

"I want him here," House admitted.

“It’s a long trip to get him, and I’m tired. Tell you what. You agree to write me a song, and I’ll get your other half over here.”

House paused.

Hermes raised one eyebrow. “I like songs, and these shoes do hurt. But it really is a long trip, and you’re annoying me. I can do some other favor for Asklepios so he won’t be too pissed.”

“Don’t bet on it,” murmured Asklepios. Wilson was his, and if Hermes’ addiction to game-playing resulted in him losing Wilson, Hermes was going to pay.

Hermes ignored his comment. Asklepios hoped that meant he was feeling confident.

“You have three seconds to decide.”

House took a deep breath. Then he nodded decisively. “Done,” he said.

Hermes shimmered, and suddenly a very confused-looking Wilson was at his side.

“House? I thought—He said you were gone.”

“He who? I am gone. So are you. This is all just one last burst of neuronal activity.”

“So you’re saying I’m not real?”

“Yep.”

“I feel real.”

“Well of course you’d say that. That doesn’t mean—“

“Wait a minute,” Wilson held up a hand. “What do you mean, ‘of course I’d say that?’”

House heaved an aggravated sigh. “I mean that of course I’d try to convince myself that you believe you’re real, thus setting the stage for me to believe you’re real. But I don’t.”

“Then why would I say it? If I’m nothing but a product of your own mind, why would I try such a transparent ploy--one you already knew you wouldn’t believe?”

“So you’re saying the fact that I don’t believe you means that I should believe you.”

“I have no idea what that even means,” Wilson said. He looked confused, but it was a sham (one of the other best things about being a God was Asklepios' ability to know what his people were thinking).

They went back and forth like that for a while. Hermes looked fascinated, but Asklepios was getting annoyed.

“Enough! Wilson, shut up already, he’ll figure it out in time. House, you are a total pain in the ass. Now go bugger each other already and give me some peace.”

House and Wilson turned to him, equally aghast.

“Never mind him,” Hermes said smoothly. “He’s just a dirty old man.”

“I’m younger than you are!”

“You were born old, and you’ve been growing into it ever since. Now come on, boys. If this is one last hurrah before your brain activity stops, you might as well enjoy it. Let me show you my…olives.”

Asklepios watched his newest souls wander off with Hermes. They'd have a rough adjustment, but he had seen worse. Everyone settled down eventually and so would these two.

Asklepios gave a contented sigh. He really did enjoy being divine.


End file.
